


Tell Me Why We Need This

by roaroftheninth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roaroftheninth/pseuds/roaroftheninth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Were you drinking onstage tonight?” Paul asks without preamble.</p><p>Harry’s mouth makes a startled ‘o’.</p><p>“Yeah, Niall pulled out a flask and we all took a hit,” Louis says, with level sarcasm. “We then strongly recommended binge-drinking to underage girls.”</p><p>Or: Louis is starting to come apart a little at the seams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Why We Need This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totallynotme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallynotme/gifts).



> We all saw the gif of Louis making a squick face after drinking out of his water bottle, yes? I figured that needed to be a oneshot! Gifted to fayestardust because she's feeling blue today.

Louis catches Harry when the lights finally go down and they come offstage, and it’s like they melt into each other after two hours of deliberate distance. Harry looks marginally surprised for a moment, because they’re used to this, now, and they’ve learned how to buck up and pull it off without it being as much of an effort as it was in the beginning. Still, he curls an arm around Louis immediately anyway because that will always be a reflex as natural as breathing.

 

It’s still a strange thing for them, to have to think about who’s watching before one skims his hands across the other’s back while leaving a room, or presses light fingers into the other one’s side when he looks pensive – kind of a, _I’m here, you good?_

 

But it’s gotten easier to switch it on and off so they can be who they have to be in public and whoever they want to be in private, and Louis hasn’t been this clingy after a concert since the beginning of the tour.

 

Niall’s giving them a wary look, sweat-soaked hair clinging to his forehead after two hours of jumping and dancing and goofing off under the lights. Harry doesn’t have time to do more than quirk an eyebrow inquiringly before Paul edges past Zayn and indicates that Harry and Louis should follow him deeper in the backstage area. There are people - techies and roadies - moving briskly around, but Paul marches through them with ease because something about the vibe he’s giving off makes them part around him like the Red Sea.

 

“Why do I get the feeling we’re being dragged to the headmaster’s office?” Louis mutters, and Harry shakes his head, because he feels the same way but he can’t imagine _why_. They just had a meeting with Management yesterday and everything’s apparently been going really well. The tour’s going great, the fragrance is selling okay, the book and the movie are due out soon – One Direction is a juggernaut that can’t be stopped, and it’s all good news, or so they’ve been led to believe.

 

There also hasn’t been a really solid media- or fan-captured ‘Larry Stylinson’ moment (Christ, Louis _hates_ that moniker; some days even hates the fans for bringing it up and calling attention to it and making it a _thing_ that Management decided had to be dealt with) in months, which – Louis honestly thought they were going to crack open the champagne when they reached that point on the agenda. _We’ve successfully shoved two more boybanders so deep into the closet that we can’t even find them behind our winter shit, good job everyone, bonuses all around._

It’s funny, because people always assume it’s Louis who talks back to Management. And it’s not that he doesn’t, per se; it’s not that he never says anything under his breath, smiling wide and razor-sharp when they ask him to repeat himself. But here’s the thing: Both Louis and Harry signed contracts with non-negotiable image clauses, and their careers are on the line. And Louis might be a little reckless, might like to take risks where his own lot in life is concerned –

 

But he is never, ever going to gamble Harry’s career, or those of any of the other boys.

 

Harry’s the one who makes earnest, impassioned arguments in their favour, tries to rationalize their actions and garner sympathy for their cause. Louis just sits back and watches him do it, that same razor-sharp smile on his face, and sometimes, even though it’s Harry talking, gesticulating wildly, Louis can feel everyone's eyes on _him_. They think he’s the ticking time bomb, and they’d probably be right, if Louis could somehow train wreck himself and all of their carefully-laid plans without train-wrecking Harry, too.

 

Paul leads the way past a cluster of security people and into an unused dressing room, and he steps aside to let them enter the room before closing the door behind him. Harry drops onto one of only two chairs in the room immediately, kind of folding comfortably in on himself. Louis doesn’t sit; he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, waiting. They’re still in their sweaty concert clothes, and while Harry looks politely puzzled about what had to be dealt with _right now_ , Louis suddenly looks resigned.

 

“Were you drinking onstage tonight?” Paul asks without preamble.

 

Harry’s mouth makes a startled ‘o’.

 

“Yeah, Niall pulled out a flask and we all took a hit,” Louis says, with level sarcasm. “We then strongly recommended binge-drinking to underage girls.”

 

“Louis, do not – _do not_ – talk to me like that; I’m trying to have an honest conversation with you.” Paul is speaking in that oddly neutral tone that puts Louis in mind of someone’s father explaining to them that they’ve lost car privileges forever; the thin veneer of playing the responsible adult over a tidal wave of disappointment and anger.

 

“I – wasn’t,” Harry says, still with that wide-eyed expression. “Honestly, I wouldn’t. It’s not professional.”

 

Louis huffs a short laugh and turns slightly so that he’s no longer angled toward Harry and doesn’t have to meet his eyes when Harry turns his gaze on him.

 

“Louis?” Paul asks quietly, and Louis doesn’t even have to say anything before Harry knows, but he articulates it for Paul’s benefit:

 

“Yeah.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, and somehow it’s hard to even find the defiance to look Paul in the face. “Yeah, I was. I put vodka in my water bottle.”

 

There’s a silence.

 

“Do I have to explain to you why that’s not okay?” Paul asks finally.

 

“Yeah, I’d love the lecture,” Louis sneers, eyes bright, still not looking at either of them. He knows it’s not Paul’s fault, but with the amount of pressure they’re under, he really should have seen this coming. Louis kind of wants to hurt him and he doesn’t care if it’s unfair.

 

Paul doesn’t seem to be willing to indulge the way Louis’ balancing on the edge of blow-out. He sounds calm when he says: “If this is you acting out, it’s dangerous. If someone higher up gets wind of this, we’ll all be in a significant amount of trouble. Do you understand that?”

 

But it’s not Louis who doesn’t understand, it’s Paul. Because Louis is a little drunk and a lot annoyed, and he’s still running off that adrenaline high from the concert, and he doesn’t have it in him to listen to rational, well-articulated reasons why he's contractually obligated to be miserable on an increasing number of occasions.

 

“I don’t care if I get in trouble,” he says, and this is the side of himself that he doesn’t really like but has never been very good at burying – sharp and bright and a little bit mean. “Everything in my entire life’s been dictated, dawn until dusk, for _three years._ Might be nice to get into a little bit of _trouble._ ”

 

“Lou,” Harry says quietly. “We’re famous; we’re living our dreams. We agreed to pay the price.”

 

“Did anyone tell you it would be like this?” Louis asks, rounding on him. “No one told me.”

 

“Harry’s not wrong,” Paul points out, reasonable and calm as ever, and it makes Louis grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurts because it’s like throwing yourself against a wall, over and over again, until your anger is spent and you realize that you haven’t even left a mark.

 

Eventually, one of them will break.

 

The cynical side of Louis knows that Management is just hoping they’ll hold out long enough to make everyone a tidy fortune before it happens.

 

 “I can’t touch Harry where people can see,” he grinds out. “I can’t be out of control in public, I can’t do a hundred things that other blokes my age can do and frankly, I think that if I handle it by putting a bit of vodka in my water bottle, you should be grateful that’s the least of it.” Louis maintains an eight-foot distance between him and Paul. He’s not sure what he would do if he let himself get closer. “Christ, even my downward spiral is _subtle_. What more could you possibly want from me?”

 

Paul watches him for a long moment. When he expels a breath, there's something just a little bit sad about it. “Only looking out for you, kid.”

 

Louis snorts. “Yeah.” But he deflates just slightly.

 

“When your contract renewal comes up, you have the option not to sign,” Paul points out. “You can walk away from One Direction. Nobody wants that, but it’ll be up to you. Until then, we just have to make the best of it.”

 

Louis doesn't say anything. It's so futile, this stupid discussion - they've had it a million times and they'll probably have it a million more, every time he or Harry comes apart a little bit more and something has to be done about it. Louis wants to break things, but it already seems hopelessly inadequate; no one will care, and it won't come close to showing them how he feels.

 

“Can I – can I have a minute?” Harry asks, and Paul meets his gaze for a moment before nodding slightly, rising, and crossing to the door.

 

“Remember I’m on your side,” he says, before he lets himself out.

 

“He’s not,” Louis mutters as the door closes.

 

“He _is_ , though,” Harry says, and he climbs to his feet and steps in close, settling his hands on Louis’ hips, just holding him steady. “So’m I.”

 

Louis gently knocks his forehead against Harry’s collarbone. “I know." He just wants to stand here until everything feels less unchangeable. "You and me against the world, Haz.”

 

“You know I’d not sign that contract renewal.” Harry’s voice is a rumble in his chest; Louis can feel it through his skin. “If you asked me to, I mean.”

 

Louis knows that it's true, even as he knows he'd never ask. “Yeah, but we’ll sign it,” he says, and he doesn’t raise his head from Harry’s neck, suddenly tired. “Of course we’ll sign it.”

 

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then: “Yeah. Suppose we will.”

 

Louis curls his fingers into the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, wishing he could tear holes in it. He wants to be destructive but he doesn’t have the courage to look this in the face. “Tell me why we need this.”

 

Harry doesn’t ask him to clarify. He doesn’t answer, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Anberlin's "Someone Anyone".


End file.
